For my dad


I get practicality from him,
and height.
I can stay up until 2am,
get up at 6, and push through the day.
Smart friends call this “resilience”;
I just call it a day.
Up or down, it’s still got to be lived.
Might as well do it awake.

I can’t fix cars like him, and I don’t
have grease under my fingernails
and my hands are not rough like his.
But I don’t trust mechanics with
clean, soft hands, and at least I don’t
drive around ignoring strange noises.
Both are him,
and I’ve never said that before.

There is not one person on this planet
confused about the way he feels –
personally or about life.
He likes what he likes and who,
doesn’t have much time for niceties.
He is himself, and when he leaves
he’s going to take nothing but himself,
and he’ll be just fine with that.

I don’t know where I got the letters;
he doesn’t trust books, or writing.
But it seems, as long as I have them all,
I might as well do something useful.

Here:  he did his best by me.
I guess that’s all I need to say.

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